


I Need You

by ItsMe_Basil



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Break Up, Its Not A Happy Story, Lots of Crying, M/M, Sad, Sterek Past Relationship, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25139560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsMe_Basil/pseuds/ItsMe_Basil
Summary: Stiles has been a mess since the break up, and he doesnt think he'll ever be able to get his feet under him.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70





	I Need You

**Author's Note:**

> I've been getting a lot of comments about the spacing in my stories. Unfortunately I can't get the space between my paragraphs. I've tried double spacing before I post, and I've tried going through my books to add the spacing later, and neither works!  
> I'm sorry for the inconvenience.

Stiles hadn't been out of bed in a week and a half. He didn't eat, couldn't sleep, and had cried so hard for so long that his right nostril felt like it was permanent clogged. He had a headache, his heart hurt.  
Noah tried to get him up and around, but Stiles was stubborn in his wallowing. He had tried going to school, but barely made it to lunch before he broke down in the middle of class. He hated how the teacher looked at him with sympathy when he ran out of the classroom. He had spent the rest of that period locked in the bathroom stall, sobbing loudly on the floor. No one asked if he was okay when people stopped in, and Stiles was greatful, because he wasn't. He didn't feel like he would ever be okay again.  
He had calmed down enough to make it to his jeep, and didn't bother going to his locker beforehand.  
Scott tried. He really did. But any time Stiles looked at him, that fatal pain in his chest reared its ugly head and Stiles just broke down again. Because Scott reminded Stiles of him. Because before, the three of them had done everything together. And now, now it was just Stiles.  
So he stayed in bed, and Scott stopped by after school to check in on him and drop his homework off. The pile on his desk was getting tall, but Stiles couldnt be bothered to care about how long it was going to take him to catch up. He couldn't, because the pain in his heart was surely going to last forever, and how could he focus on his education when his heart was ripped in two?  
He had burritoed himself in his thick comforter, in a rare phase where he wasn't crying. He was staring at his wall, content with the pass-time until a knock broke his concentration.  
Stiles didn't answer, but the door swung open anyway. "How you doing?"  
Stiles sat up to see Scott, but he wasn't alone. Lydia was wirh him, and Issac. Fucking Issac. Stiles let out a sigh.  
"Is this an intervention?" He asked, too tired and too broken to put any real emotion behind it.  
"Its been almost two weeks," Scott said. "Your dad said you're not eating, and you barely leave your bed."  
Stiles sighed again. He wanted to be left alone. Scott knew that. He was sure his dad knew that, and Lydia and Issac definitely should know that.  
"Come on," Lydia said, stepping into the room. She went to his dresser, and Stiles didn't stop her from grabbing his clothes and a change of underwear. "You need a shower."  
Stiles would rather do anything else.  
When he didn't move, she pulled the blanket from him and shoved his clothes into his chest. He reached up to craddle them, and Lydia pulled him out of bed. He was only in his boxers, but he couldnt care enough that his friends were watching.  
He let's Lydia pull him from the bedroom and to the bathroom on the other side of the hallway. She has the sense to start the water for him and set out a towel. He wouldn't have done it himself.  
She gives him a pointed look before leaving and shutting the door. The look that said if he didn't get in the shower she'd push him in.  
Stiles set the clothes down on the counter, and looked up at the mirror. He didn't look like him. His eyes were red, the bags under are dark purple. His skin is paler than normal, and it looks like he's lost too much weight. His cheek bones are a little more prominent, his collar bones stuck out just a little more than normal. He could see his ribs faintly rippling under his skin. He looked like a mess.  
It took everything in him to step out of his boxers, and by the time he managed to get into the shower, he just wanted to crawl back into bed.  
He stood under the spray, let the water soak his hair flat against his head and closed his eyes. He stood there, and cried silently into the water.  
He didn't know how he still had tears to cry, but he was always surprised when he felt the water wet his cheeks.  
After what felt like forever, there was a knock on the door. Stiles barely made a noise in response, but the bathroom door opened and closed.  
Stiles didn't care. He let whoever it was sit on the toilet and wait.  
"Did you wash your hair?" It was Lydia.  
"No," he said, barely above the noise of the shower. There was silence, and Sriles knew she wanted him to, so he brushed a hand over his face and reached for his shampoo.  
It took him twice the time to wash and rinse his hair.  
"Body wash too," Lydia said. Stiles did as she said. He could feel his ribs while he ran soap over his chest, felt the points of his hips when his hands moved down to clean his abdomen.  
When he finished, he stayed under the water, wishing he could just go to sleep and never wake up.  
"Alright, times up," Lydia called. Stiles turned off the shower, but doesnt reach to open the curtain. A towel is handed over and he takes it silently, drying himself off in the tub.  
His underwear is next, and Stiles hands the towel back over. Hes in his underwear when he finally pulls the curtain back and steps out.  
Lydia has his shirt and hands it to him. He can't bring himself to smile at her as he grabs it and puts it on. Then he steps into his sweat pants and hes glad she didn't make him wear jeans.  
"You're going to be okay, Stiles," Lydia says softly, and that breaks Stiles all over again. He let's out a sob, brings his hands to his eyes to try and fight the tears off.  
"No, I'm not," he breaks. Lydia hugs him, and it takes everything in him not to let his knees give out. He wraps his arms around her shoulders, burries his face into her neck and sobs.  
"I know it doesnt feel like it now," Lydia hums, running a hand up and down his back. "But I promise you'll feel better, and you'll move on."  
"I don't want to," Stiles manages. He knows his hair and tears are soaking into her floral shirt, but she doesn't seem to mind and it's been so long since he's been hugged, and he hurts.  
"I know."  
They stay there until Stiles manages to calm himself down. He stands, wipes his eyes, sniffles and chokes out a last sob. Lydia takes his hand in hers and the two exit the bathroom.  
Stiles tries to go back to his bed, but Lydia keeps him in the hallway with a shake of her head.  
"We're going to thr kitchen," she said. Stiles didn't want to. He looked back at his room and noticed his blankets and sheets had been stripped from the bed. He let's Lydia pull him down the stairs. Scott and Issac are talking with his dad in the kitchen, and Lydia leads Stiles to the stool in front of the island.  
"There's my son," his dad said, smiling sympathetically. Stiles manages to acknowledge him, but he can't bring himself to smile. He probably never will.  
But his dad doesn't mind, and he places a hand on Stiles' shoulder before dropping a mug in front of him.  
"We have your blankets in the washer," Scott said. Stiles nodded. He sags in his stool, hands clasped around the mug of tea his dad had made.  
He doesnt see the plate until Issac shoves it into his line of view. It's just a sandwich -peanut butter and jelly- and Stiles eyes it.  
"I'm not hungry," he says. He's not. Even if he was, the pain in his heart outmatched any stomach cramps he had.  
"Eat, or I'll feed you," Lydia said. She was the tough lover. That's why Scott and his dad brought her. Because she wouldnt let Stiles wallow, and in that moment, he really hated her because that's all he wanted to do.  
"We're worried about you, Stiles," Scott confesses. "You gotta take care of yourself."  
And Stiles knows this. He does. He really does. But he can't find it in himself to want to. Maybe it's because he's a masochist, but he just wants to look as miserable as he feels, and he knows if he starts to eat, if he brushes his teeth and washes his hair, that he'll start to feel better, and he doesn't want to feel better.  
"Guilt tripping is a low blow," Stiles manages to say with a sigh. But he grabs half of the sandwich and takes a bite.  
The peanut butter is too sticky, and it sticks to the roof of his mouth, but he manages to swallow, and then he takes another bite.  
Issac leaves to put the bedding into the dryer, and Stiles finishes the first half of the sandwich before taking a sip of the now lukewarm tea.  
*-*  
Stiles is forced to do his homework when Scott comes over with his own. He sits on Stiles' bed, laying out the text books before shoving the stack of homework into his lap.  
So Stiles does his homework. He let's Scott help him with it when the werewolf finishes his much less work load, and he gets through a forth of the stack before Scott has to leave. He takes the finished work with him, knowing Stiles probably wont be in the next day.  
It takes a week for him to catch up. Scott comes over every day and forces him to do his home work, and then forces him out of bed to sit with his dad in the kitchen and eat dinner.  
"You're going to have to go back to school tomorrow," Stiles' dad says one night. Its Sunday. Stiles looks up at him.  
"I don't want to," he says, and he knows he's close to tears again because he feels his throat close up.  
"I know you don't," his dad says. "But you've already missed three weeks, and if you miss anymore you won't graduate."  
"I don't care," Stiles said, scowling and rubbing his eyes tiredly.  
"Scott is going to pick you up in the morning," his dad said, ignoring Stiles. "Its time to get your feet under you."  
Stiles doesnt cry as hard as he did before, but he sniffles, and he feels the tears welling up in his eyes. He presses the heels of his palms deeper into his eyes.  
"I don't know if I can," he says truthfully. And his dad stands up and places a hand on his shoulder. Stiles pulls his hands away and wraps his arms around his dad's torso, pressing his face into his dad's stomach.  
"I miss him," Stiles says, and it's the first time he's said so out loud, and it's like the damn breaks again. It always breaks, he builds it up, and then it breaks. Over and over. And it's not going to ever be as strong as it was before, and it makes it worse.  
He cries into his dad's stomach, hands gripping the back of his shirt. And his dad held him just as tightly. It was the new normal. Something small would trigger a new wave of tears, and Stiles would take three steps back.  
But Scott, Lydia and his dad was always there to help him take another step forward.  
"I know you miss him," his dad hums, running a hand through Stiles' hair. "He was your first love. No matter what you do, you'll always miss him. And you'll always love him."  
"I don't want to love him," Stiles frowns, pulling away from his dad and wiping at his eyes. "I want to hate him. I wish I'd never met him."  
And his dad smiles sadly at him, shakes his head. "No you don't."  
And Stiles nods, because no, he doesn't. He can't hate him, and he would never wish to have never met him, even if he broke Stiles the way he has. No amount of pain would ever make Stiles stop loving him, and that was a pain of itself that Stiles knew would never go away.  
*-*  
His first day back at school is filled with sympathetic looks from his friends, and questions from his teachers and classmates. He tells everyone he was sick. His friends don't talk about anything that would make Stiles break down in the lunch room, and its tense around their table.  
Scott and Allison try their best to include him in conversation, but Stiles doesn't want to conversate and after a while they stop. Erica and Issac talk with Boyd, and Lydia keeps putting food on Stiles' plate, trying to get his weight back. Stiles still hasn't found his appetite, but he eats what's on his tray, and then the bell rings.  
He finishes up the rest of the school day, and walks to his locker. He doesnt say goodbye to his friends. He's in the jeep and driving home.  
His friends slip up a week into Stiles being at school. They're at lunch, and Scott asks what everyone is planning on doing for the weekend.  
Stiles doesn't bother putting in his two cents, because he was probably going to be in his bed, or maybe on the couch with his dad.  
But he listens to Boyd and Issac talk about a trip to the beach. Scott and Allison are going to the movies.  
"I wanted to go to the beach," Erica grumbles. "But I somehow got roped into a long weekend of research with Lydia and Derek."  
And the whole table froze. Erica's eyes widened and she snapped her mouth shut with a wince. Stiles felt everyone look at him, waiting for a reaction.  
Stiles knows they heard the spike in his heart rate, probably smelled the sudden change in his chemo signals, but he just takes a breath and chugs the bottle of water.  
"You okay?" Scott asks once he's finished the bottle. He looks over, she's the sympathetic grimace. Everyone is looking like they're waiting for Stiles to break down and sob in the middle of the lunch room, but he wont.  
"I'm not going to break," Stiles says softly, because if he speaks up any louder, he just might. The last month contradicts his words now, but he forces himself to believe the words as he picks up a fry that he doesn't want to eat.  
"You don't need to avoid talking about him for my benefit."  
The table is still quiet, and Stiles manages to eat three fries before he stands up.  
"I'll see you guys on Monday," he says, taking the tray with him and dumping it into the trash. He knows the only person he'll see the rest of the day is Scott, but he doesnt want to talk to him. Doesnt want to talk to anyone.  
*-*  
"Come on, you're going."  
Lydia is standing in his door way, arms crossed over her chest. Stiles is at his computer. It's a step forward, he thinks. He's no longer spending all his free time in bed.  
Now, he's on his computer, doing his homework, or playing a game, or doing research on things that he no longer has a right to know about.  
"I have homework," Stiles brushes her off.  
"And I have the car running outside," Lydia countered. "Come on. Going out will do you some good."  
Stiles sighs, turning in his chair to look at her with a tired expression. "I know you're trying to get me out of my break-up funk, and I really appreciate it, but I really don't want to go out tonight."  
"You don't have an option," Lydia said. "Or did you forget its Erica's birthday?"  
Stiles dropped his head. He did forget it was Erica's birthday. He remembered briefly agreeing to going out for her birthday, but Stiles couldn't for the life of him remember the conversation and aparently he couldn't even remember her damn birthday.  
"So get on some pants and meet me outside," Lydia said. She spun around and left without another word and Stiles got to his feet to find a decently clean pair of pants.  
He makes it to the car, and Lydia drives them to the movie theater to join the others. Stiles doesnt pay any attention to the movie, and he tries really hard to at least look happy while his friends celebrate Erica turning 18, but he can't seem to manage it.  
When Stiles gets back home, it's late, and he barely manages to take his jeans off before falling into bed.  
He doesn't mean to get his phone out, and definitely doesn't mean to open up his gallery. He didn't want to open the folder labeled Me & Der, and hates when he clicks on the first image- the last picture they took together.  
Stiles is holding the camera up, his other arm curled around Derek's shoulders. Stiles is grinning up at the camera with Derek's snapback on backwards. Derek's hair is a little flatter than normal from wearing it most of the day, but it still had Stiles' mouth watering.  
Derek has both arms wrapped around his waist, and was biting his jaw with a grin of his own. Stiles felt himself spiraling again, laying on his side in the dark as he flicked through the pictures. Nearly four years of photos, six hundred and twenty-seven pictures, and Sriles found himself flicking through all of them, because he was a masochist. He was a masochist and he hated himself for it, and he hated that he couldn't delete the photos, or change his phone background. He still had Derek's drawer in his dresser, and it still had his clothes in it. It had been a month and Derek's spare toothbrush still sat in the medicine cabinet.  
He knew it would be so much easier to heal if he got rid of the pictures -if he packed all of Derek's things in a box and shoved it into his closet. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, and he knew it was because he hated himself. Why else would he prolong this type of pain? The type of pain that felt so much worse than any physical pain he'd ever been subjected to.  
*-*  
Seven weeks. Stiles wont admit to anyone that he's been counting, but it's been seven weeks since Derek had broke it off, and Stiles was at the grocery store.  
He doesn't need a cart, because he's only getting a couple things. His dad gave him his list -which consisted of eggs and milk- and Stiles added pizza rolls and ice cream to it. It was his comfort food, and he had made many trips to the grocery store in the last seven weeks every couple days when he ran out.  
It was raining, Stiles had to run to make it inside without getting soaked, and the cool air of the grocery store chilled his wet skin.  
He had the milk in one hand, the eggs under his arm, and cradled the pizza rolls and ice cream in his other close to his chest as he made his way to the checkout. The woman behind the register rang him up with a happy smile, and although Stiles smiled back, it wasn't a happy one.  
She bagged his items and he said thanks before heading for the door. He groaned when he saw the heavy downpour. Hed only been in the store maybe ten minutes, but the rain outside turned from a healthy watering to a Great Wolf Lodge bucket dumping.  
"Fan-fucking-tastic," he grunted. There were other people waiting at the entrance. Either for the rain to let up so they could run to their cars, or for someone to drive their car over to pick them up.  
Stiles didn't want to wait for the rain to let up. He wanted to be home so he could cry into his ice cream like every heart broken girl did in the earthy two-thousands movies his dad liked to watch. So with a put-upon sigh and a couple nudges to the loiterers at the door, he took off into the rain.  
Just his luck that there weren't any available parking closer to the store, and Stiles had to jog halfway across the parking lot to get to his dad's car. His jeep -possibly empathizing with Stiles- had broken down and wouldnt start.  
He got the back door open and threw in the groceries, being careful about the eggs. He was soaked to the bone and was cold as fuck, but for some reason he took his time getting into the car. He even looked up to see the grocery store front, where cars were beginning to pull up to collect their people.  
It was the biggest mistake Stiles had ever done, because when he looked up, his eyes landed on the familiar outline of a Camero, parked three rows from Stiles.  
And Stiles stood there, soaking wet, with the rain beating down on him mercilessly, staring at that Camero like a deer caught in the headlights. Because Derek was close by. He was in the store, where Stiles had been.  
And to his horror, the driver door opened, and out stepped Derek. Stiles' heart skidded to a halt so fast he let out a gasp. He looked the same. Still had his dark hair, his skin still tanned and muscles still bulging. He didn't look like he was really struggling with what had happened the way Stiles was, and Stiles was suddenly crying, because fuck Derek.  
And the other door opened and Boyd stepped out, and said something, and Stiles watched Derek grin and huff a laugh, and Stiles couldnt do it.  
He tore his eyes away from them, turned back to his dad's car and flung the door open. His breath was hitching, he was soaking and shivering and suddenly filled with so many emotions he felt his knees wobble. He was angry. So angry. How could Derek look so put together when it took everything in Stiles to get himself out of bed? That question lead to a cascade of other questions.  
Did he really love Stiles? How could he look so fine if he didn't love Stiles as much as Stiles loved him?  
Stiles reached into his pocket, struggling against the wet denim for his keys. He yanked them free and let out a jumble of broken curses when his change tumbled to the concrete.  
He slammed the door shut harder than it needed and dropped to his knees. He was already soaking, already sobbing. He snatched at the change and shoved it into his pocket, but he didn't get up again.  
He shifted from his knees to his ass, pressing his back against the car door. He had his elbows on his bent knees, his shaking hands pressed into his forehead as he sobbed. They were the sobs that left you completely wrecked, the ones that stole your breath away and didn't give you time to inhale. Thunder rolled over head, but Stiles didn't move. He couldn't. Couldnt bring himself to pull himself up, or stop crying, or do anything but sit in the rain in a grocery store parking lot, soaked and freezing and just wail.  
"Stiles?"  
The voice was loud enough to cut through the rain, and Stiles curled in on himself, bringing his knees closer to his chest, dropping his chin down and curling his arms around his head. He let out a broken sound. He didn't want Derek here. Didn't want to see how broken he was, how much he'd fallen apart without him.  
"Hey, baby, come here." Derek was kneeling in front of him, his cold hands on Stiles' wet shirt sleeves. He pulled gently, and Stiles let his arms down and lifted his head.  
He looked so concerned, so worried and full of regret as Derek looked at Stiles, broken and sobbing painfully.  
"Oh, baby," he said, so softly. Stiles let out a broken sob and reached for him. He clawed at Derek's shoulders even as Derek pulled him closer, nearly pulling Stiles into his lap. Stiles sobbed into his shoulder, his grip on Derek's shirt so tight his knuckles were white. Or it was because he was so fucking cold.  
"Shh, its alright, Stiles," Derek whispered, just loud enough for Stiles to hear over the sound of the rain, running a hand down his back. Stiles just cried. He couldn't have talked even if he wanted to. Seven weeks without Derek, and now he was there, holding him, trying to calm him down the way he'd always had. And Derek wasn't his anymore.  
Stiles pulled back and shoved at his chest with the saddest attempt at a grunt he'd ever managed.  
"You left me!" Stiles sobbed. He shoved at Derek again, though the older man didn't budge. Stiles was on his ass, Derek kneeling between his knees.  
"You left, Derek! You left me alone and I can't- I can't-" he sucked in a shuttering breath, hands shaking. "I can't breathe."  
Derek didn't say anything. He just pulled Stiles back into his arms, and Stiles let him. He clung to him like his life depended on it. It did. Stiles couldn't live without Derek. It was a wonder he'd lasted this long.  
"I hate you," Stiles sobbed into his chest. "You broke my heart and you left, and I hate you so-o much."  
Derek tucked his head, his cheek pressing into Stiles' hair. "No, you don't," he said quietly, his hold on Stiles tightening and forcing a sob out of Stiles, because he was right. Stiles didn't hate him. He hated how much he still loved him.  
"I can't live without you." His concession was brittle, wobbly and accompanied by another sob that shook his shoulders.  
"Yes you can," Derek breathed. Stiles shook his head against Derek's chest, tightening his arms around him when Derek tried to push him away.  
Derek got the two of them seperated just enough to grab Stiles' face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against Stiles' cheeks -collecting rain and tears.  
Stiles held his sides tightly as Derek gazed into his eyes, his own eyes slightly red around the edges.  
"You're doing so well, baby," Derek whispered.  
"I'm not," Stiles choked out, cheeks still cradled in Derek's hands as he lowered his head. "I'm barely h-holding it together. I can't- I-I-" another sob cut him off, and Derek tilted his chin so they were looking at each other. Stiles could see the faint wobble of Derek's lower lip, which made it all the worse for Stiles.  
"You are," Derek nodded, sucking in his own deep breath.  
"How do you know?" He snapped, only it wasn't a snap, it was a sob, a whimper. And Derek gave a sad smile, his lip still quivering to hold back tears of his own.  
"Your dad told me," Derek confessed softly. "Scott told me." Stiles sniffled, his mouth parted to inhale sharp breaths.  
"I need you," Stiles breathed, and Derek leaned his head down to press against Stiles' forehead. Stiles' hands fisted the soaking fabric of his tshirt, pulling, wanting him closer.  
"You don't need me, baby," Derek said. He was better at keeping his composure than Stiles was, but Stiles had known Derek for four years, had been dating for close to that long, and knew he was barely holding on.  
"I do, I need you" Stiles wailed, shuffling closer. "I can't live without you. I love you."  
Derek's nose brushed against Stiles', holding him incredibly tight.  
"I love you too," Derek whispered.  
"So, so stay with me," Stiles choked out. "Be with me, please-" he cut himself off with a harsh inhale.  
"You know I can't," Derek shook his head. "I can't be with you. You'll only get hurt."  
"I want to get hurt!" Stiles sobbed, falling back into his chest. Derek's hands moved from his face to encircle around his back, pulling him so their chests were flush.  
Derek shook his head, pressing his shaky lips to Stiles' soaked hair. "I don't want you hurt."  
Stiles pulled his head free this time, red rimmed eyes looking up at Derek with so much pain.  
"I'm already hurt," he said, a sob escaping his parted lips. The rain was still falling heavily, though it lightened up again. Stiles knew once it did the parking lot would fill with people, and he wished God would just give him a few more minutes.  
"You're going to find somebody else," Derek said, breaking Stiles' heart again. "You're going to find somebody else and you're going to move on and be happy. And they're going to love you far better than I can."  
"I don't want anybody else!" Stiles snapped, a little stronger now. "I want you, only you. I want you forever."  
Now Derek was crying too, soft hitches in his breath mingling with Stiles' broken sobbing. He tangled his fingers in Stiles' hair, bringing their foreheads together and clinging to each other tightly.  
"I don't want to be the reason you don't live last college," Derek said, voice thick with emotion. "I'm no good for you, Stiles."  
Stiles shook his head frantically, gripping onto him and choking out a cry. "I don't care, Derek, please I need you."  
Derek copped his face again and kissed him. Their lips were wet, and Stiles struggled to keep from sobbing into his mouth as Derek leaned his head, deepening the kiss. Their lips parted, swallowing each other's cries, and Stiles hated how much it felt like a goodbye kiss.  
Derek pulled away first, smoothing his thumbs across Stiles' cheeks as he sniffled and put on his brace face. Stiles had no brave face. His emotions flooded from his features like a tsunami wave.  
"Let's get you home," he said, steeling his voice. He cleared his throat and patted Stiles' cheek.  
Stiles shook his head, but let Derek pull him to his feet.  
Stiles still clung to him as Derek lead him around to the passenger side of the car, then got in the driver seat.  
Stiles continued to sob, curling up in the seat and shaking. Derek started the car and pulled out of the lot. His hand found Stiles' thigh, and Stiles shakily grabbed at it, threading their fingers together the way they had done for so long. Stiles didn't say anything, and neither did Derek.  
They reached his home too soon, and Stiles' dad was there. Stiles' grip on Derek tightened when Derek cut the engine.  
"Come on, baby."  
Stiles managed to get himself out of the car, stood there in the rain holding himself while Derek opened the back door and grabbed his groceries.  
Stiles saw the Camero -knew that Boyd had followed them home.  
Derek kicked the door shut and walked over to where Stiles was standing. And he kept walking, so Stiles followed. Derek got the front door open, and Stiles could see his dad coming down the hall. He let out a broken noise. Derek handed the groceries to him, and then turned to Stiles.  
Stiles took the smallest step back, arms crossed over his stomach.  
"I'm gonna go," Derek said softly. Stiles' lip wobbled and he reached for Derek again, pulling the werewolf into his chest and burying his face into the soaking shirt on his chest.  
"Please," Stiles begged. Derek held him tightly before he grabbed at Stiles' arms. He tried to hold on, but Derek pulled himself free, his hands finding Stiles' before letting go and brushing past him.  
Stiles let out a sound he couldn't quite name, his legs going boneless. His dad was there to grab his elbow, and lead Stiles into the house.  
The Camero was gone when Stiles glanced back, and his dad had to hold him up so Stiles didn't just fall to the ground and sob.  
"Its okay, son," his dad hushed, the groceries forgotten on the floor by their feet as Stiles was pulled into his arms. He didn't care that Stiles was soaked to the bone.  
At some point, Stiles' dad had gotten Stiles into a pair of clean dry clothes, and tucked him into bed. Stiles sobbed himself to sleep, even though it was barely dinner time. He didn't care.  
He woke up to Scott closing the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed behind Stiles, holding his best friend close to his chest. Stiles let him tangle their legs. He held Stiles with his arms to his chest, and rested his chin on Stiles' shoulder, whispering to him and hushing him until Stiles fell back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So I should've been writing for Ready to Comply and Alpha, but instead I made myself cry. This idea has been in my head for a couple days now, and I had only written the plot so I could write it later, but then the plot turned into the whole story and here we are.  
> I don't make myself cry very often when it comes to writing but damn. I hope you guys like it, or fucking hate it because its 11 at night and I'm all emotional. I shouldve just continued with my other stories instead of hurting my own feelings.


End file.
